


The Choices of tomorrow

by WL_Erkling



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-03
Updated: 2016-08-03
Packaged: 2018-07-29 02:17:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7666471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WL_Erkling/pseuds/WL_Erkling
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Draco Malfoy is at a loss for once in his life. His mother has challenged him with finding the perfect wife, but all he wants is the perfect arse in a nice set of trousers. What happens when he lets Blaise take over finding him the perfect match? [Draco Malfoy/ Neville Longbottom] </p><p>
  <a href="http://s1248.photobucket.com/user/wlerkling/media/The%20Choices%20of%20Tomorrow_zpsubr2riaf.jpg.html"></a>
  <img/>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Choices of tomorrow

Disclaimer: Characters, settings, and themes from the Harry Potter universe are property of J.K Rowling. I neither own, nor am making profit from the writing or sharing of this story.

* * *

 

 

            Smooth, heavy with smoke, the whiskey burned as he swallowed. This was his third and he raised a hand to signal Rosmerta. She nodded, grabbing the bottle.

            “Sure you’re up for more, love?”

            “We’re having a party, can’t you tell?” Venemous, as always. She could see the desperation in his eyes, the need to borrow time in drunken dreams.

            “Aye, I can see what kind of party you’ll be havin’ in the morning. He needs to be on his feet by the end of the night, ya hear me, Blaise?” The other man turned, smirking just enough to make her laugh. “You two ought to find yourselves a couple of nice girls and get out of my bar.” With that, she sashayed off, her apron brushing against more than one rowdy customer.

            “Did you hear that, Blaise? She thinks we should find a nice girl and sod off.” Another sip; this one stung less.

            “Well, friend. Perhaps she’s right. Your mum throws enough pureblood skirts your way, you’re bound to find one that even _your_ nose can’t turn up at.” Faster than his drunk companion, Blaise leaned away from the fist that came swinging, missing him by quite the span. The outstretched hand landed on the table with a thud. He groaned, looking through blonde fringe and sighing.

            “Did you know she said if I didn’t provide an heir by the end of the year, I’d lose my fortune?” His exaggerated expressions were amusing. Blaise reached out to pat the shoulder of his somber friend. “Don’t patronize me, Zabini.”

            “What would you like me to do, Draco?” At this, he sat up, wiping away a slither of drool— a failing attempt to recover his composure.

            “I would like you to find me a pureblood worth marrying. Someone to carry my child who I don’t find repulsive and who I won’t despise for the rest of my life. How about that, _friend_?”

            “Damn, Draco. How about you tell me to make Potter fart rainbows and lick your toes for breakfast _and_ noon tea while we’re at it?” He snorted, gazing about the room.  “Ahh, there you are. Pureblood—check. Male—check. Not a complete arse—check.” Draco was glaring at him now, gripping his glass fiercely. “Don’t spill your drink; you might not be able to afford another soon.” A laugh brought Draco’s attention back to the current situation.

            “Fucker. Who is this mysterious man you think I should procreate with?”

            Blaise’s upper body turned toward the bar and he cupped a hand to his mouth. “Eh, Longbottom.” When the recipient of the call looked over, Blaise smiled with all of his pearly whites. “Come here a minute, would ya?”

            “Longbottom? Are you fucking with me?” His voice had dropped to a whisper and his glass now sloshed its contents around.

            Both Slytherins watched as Neville Longbottom paid for his butterbeer and turned toward their table. He was hesitant, sensing the tension between the two friends. Blaise was all welcome body language—bright smile, open arms on the table and relaxed posture. Draco, on the other hand, had one hand on his lap, the other gripping his drink tightly, and hid his face behind his hair. His jaw clenched repeatedly and he hunched over the table. Neville approached anyway, remembering that it was Blaise who’d called.

            “Hello, mate. Been a while. How’ve you been?”

            “Oh, hello Blaise. I’ve been all right, I guess.” He ducked his head, taking a cautious sip of his drink. A bit of foam stuck to his lip and his tongue darted out to lick it off.

            “Do you remember Draco?”

            “Of course, yeah, I remember him. Hullo Draco.” He hesitated a bit on the name, but got the awkward greeting out none the less.

            “Longbottom.” Draco didn’t even look up. Blaise laughed—a full, hearty thrum.

            “Our friend, here, is in a bit of a bind.”

            “Zabini.” The name was harsh; a warning that was completely ignored.

            “You see, he has to marry a pureblood and provide an heir or his fortune will disappear. Mummy dearest is going to completely cut him off.” Blaise made a scissoring motion obscenely low and Neville choked on the sip he’d just been starting to swallow.

            “Oh. Well, that’s terrible.” He stood, both hands on his mug, looking down into the foam.

            “Yes, well, I think you can help him.” That got both of their attention. Neville nearly dropped his drink and Draco groaned into the table. “You two would be perfect for each other.” There it was—the smug smile of a friend who was trying his best to make all of his devious plans line up.

            “I-I, he isn’t—”

            “Oh, but he is.”

            “Zabini, you go too far.” Draco was sitting up now, his storm-grey eyes completely focused on Blaise.

            “No. I think it would be perfect.” He turned to Neville. “Has old Augusta been pestering you for marriage, yet?”

            “Well, yeah, but…”

            “Then you see, it’s perfect.”

            “What on earth could possibly be perfect about this?” Draco’s open gape was nearly hostile and Neville took a step back. It took the Gryffindor a moment, but he gathered his courage, downed the rest of his drink, and slammed his mug on the table.

            “I’d do it,” was all he said, looking directly at Draco, before he walked back to the bar.

            “Fuck me if he didn’t just say he’d marry you.” Blaise laughed, clapping Draco on the shoulder.

            “Marrying Longbottom won’t solve anything.”

            “It would solve _everything_ , Draco!” He leaned in close, talking quickly now. “Think about it: he’s a pureblood, he’s, well, a man, he’s got his own upstanding family, he could provide you with an heir, and he bloody well offered to marry you! What on earth are you not seeing about this?”

            “It’s Longbottom.”

            “Have you looked at him, really looked at him since Hogwarts? He’s not the same, you know.”

            Draco shook his head, lifting a hand to wipe some of the drunkenness from his face. He turned toward the bar, spotting broad shoulders and shaggy hair. He looked to the right and left, trying to find Longbottom, but when the man turned, a shy blush was all he needed to tell him the man he was admiring from behind _was_ Neville Longbottom. His eyes drifted from his shoulders down his trim waist to slender hips. They were encased in a pair of muggle denims, which highlighted a fantastic arse. Draco absentmindedly licked his lips, bringing his whiskey up for a quick drink.

            “Like what you see?” Blaise shook him out of his admiration and he about spewed alcohol all over the both of them.

            “Merlin, Blaise. Give a man a break here.” He set his drink down, thumbing the edge of the glass. “He’s not half bad, I guess.”

            “Not half bad? I’m straight as an arrow, and I’ve half a mind to shag the bloke. He’s cute as a button, Draco.”

            “Sod it.”

            “Go talk to him. Maybe you two really can work something out.” Blaise lifted his chin toward Neville, who was nursing a new butterbeer and making small talk with Hannah Abbott, Rosmerta’s barmaid.

            “Fine, but only because you’ve given me no other options and I’m buggered otherwise.”

            “Oh wouldn’t you like to be.” Blaise pursed his lips, trying, and failing, to withhold his laughter. He raised his glass in salute as Draco trudged off.

            The bar was nearly deserted as Draco approached. Perhaps a heated glare or two could have helped with part of that. He sat next to Neville and lifted two fingers toward Rosmerta, signaling a refill. Hannah lifted a curious brow at Draco and he shook his head.

            “Were you serious?”

            “What do you mean?” Neville swiveled on his stool, brows drawn tightly as he considered Draco’s tired face and posture.

            “Were you serious about marrying me? You realize that it’s a bit more complicated than a quick bonding ceremony and sharing in the Malfoy fortunes.” His voice was low, rasping out the words as if they pained him.

            “Honestly, Draco, I didn’t even know you were bent.” Rosmerta walked over with the bottle of whiskey and poured two fingers. Draco rummaged for a hefty tip. “I’m not sure exactly what you’re looking to get out of this, but my gran wants a marriage and an heir out of me too. That’s a bit difficult when you’re… different.”

            “Different? What in the barmy hells are you calling different?”

            “After the war, so many people wanted attention. They wanted to talk to me, to be around me, date me. I never liked that kind of thing. If they didn’t want to be around me before, then why should I be around them now? It was a load of bollocks, it was.”

            “You’re not making this any easier, Longbottom. You and I have never been mates.”

            “Well that’s right and good, but at least I know you aren’t after my fame or my reputation. The most you’d be after would be my bloodline and my dashing good looks, yeah?” Neville lifted his chin proudly for a minute before blushing and burying his head in his butterbeer again.

            “All right. Well say we did this. What are your terms?”

            “You want to discuss this now? Here?”

            “Might as well.”

            “You’re drunk, Draco. I don’t think that bodes well for any proper kind of decision making.”

            Draco scowled, slamming the whiskey glass against the bar’s edge, watching as it nearly toppled. Only Neville’s quick fingers saved it from the floor.

            “Uh, thanks.”

            “As I said, you’re drunk. We should talk about this tomorrow, if you’re even remotely still interested by then.”

            “Fine. Tea. Your choice. Owl me.” Draco stood, wobbling a bit and having to grab the bar’s edge to steady himself. Once he was holding upright, he let go and began walking away.

            “Draco, wait!”

            “What?” Gruff, angry almost.

            “I don’t have your address. I know you’re not at the manor anymore, but—”

            “Stop talking.” A wobbly step back to the bar. “Here.” He pulled out his wand and cast a quiet spell, mumbling so that Neville couldn’t quite make it out. There, on the inside of his wrist was an address.

            “Oh. Okay then. Night, Draco.” Draco just lifted a hand as he drifted back to the table he’d shared with Blaise.

            “How did it go, lover boy?”

            “Bugger off, Zabini.”

            “Honestly now, Draco. I’m only trying to help.”

            “Yea, like that ring on your finger entitles you to help with this sort of problem.”  

            “If I can’t help you with this, then what is a best friend for? Besides, you can’t blame me for falling madly in love with a fiery goddess of a woman, now can you?” His eyes blazed, but he held back, waiting for Draco to spill. He knew baiting too much would cause the former ice prince to go glacial. A few quiet moments passed where they sipped quietly, only small gestures letting Blaise know that Draco was irritated. Finally, the blonde let out an exaggerated breath and leaned back in his chair.

            “Tea tomorra.”

            “Tea?” Another dubious eyebrow lift. “You’ll most definitely need some after this binge.” Blaise wrinkled his nose at Draco as he drained the whiskey and tried to request another.

            “You’re cut off. I saw you trying to walk not more than half hour ago. Take him home, Zabini!” Blaise laughed and gave a half-hearted salute to the matron.

            “Looks like I need to get you home and in some sort of working order before your date tomorrow.”

            “S’not a date.”

            “Sure it’s not. Let’s get you through the floo and into bed. On second thought, floo, sober-up potion, then bed.” Hearing his friend’s drawn-out protest, Blaise gripped his arm and hefted upward. “You’ll thank me later.” The floo engulfed them.

            On the other side, Draco fell to his knees before sliding to the floor. Blaise started laughing. “It’s been a while since I’ve been the sober one. Damn. Hold on. Mobilicorpus.” Once the spell took hold, he directed his wand toward the bedroom door and the softly snoring body of his friend followed. Lifting Draco onto the bed was another matter entirely. The spell helped, but it wasn’t quite enough to get him arranged so that the princess wouldn’t have a kneazle about his rumpled clothes. Blaise stripped Draco’s shirt, tugged off each rather-expensive boot, tossed them all across the room haphazardly for good measure, and left him in his trousers. Then he went into the loo and tried to dig around for a sober-up. Finding one, he wandered back into the bedroom and stared at the sleeping man for a minute.

            “You’d better not ruin this, Draco. Neville is too bloody good for you.” He shook his head and proceeded to pour the vial’s contents down the near-unconscious man’s throat. Draco choked and spluttered for a minute, shouting several expletives before succumbing to sleep again. He didn’t even notice when Blaise picked up one of his clubbing shirts, mumbled something about borrowing-not-borrowing, and walked out.

            There was an irritating, scratching sound. He rubbed at his ear, willing it to go away. No such luck; it only intensified. Draco opened one sleep-swollen eye and saw a tawny owl at his window, most insistent on being let in. It was a matter of seconds, really, but he was able to drag himself out of bed and meander over to the window. He let the owl in. She flew over to his bedpost and huffed there. Draco sighed. He closed the window, silently throwing a curse to Merlin for whomever felt the need to owl him at the arse crack of morning. The owl was a bit resistant on letting its parcel go, so a bit of a bribe was necessary.

Three treats later, he was able to get the letter off its leg with only a minor scratch to show for it. The bloody owl was preening on the bedpost as if she’d been paid extra to be a twat. There wasn’t much to the letter. “ _Tea. The Baroness. 11:00_.” Draco cast a quick tempus and swore as he only had an hour. He ran to the floo, tossing in some powder and calling out Blaise’s address.

“Blaise! Answer me right fucking now!”

“Salazar’s balls, Draco. What has your knickers in a twist so bloody early?” Blaise’s face popped into the fire and it was obvious that he’d been delayed going home the night prior.

“This! This is what has me _in a twist_!” He threw the note in the air, as if Blaise could read it through the floo.

“Do you need me to come over?”

“Yes, you wanker. Now.” Draco stormed to his room, leaving the floo connection open. Blaise stepped through, calling back to Ginny that their precious ice prince had an emergency. She laughed and told him to go take care of it before he melted.

“Draco, darling. You’d better have a reason for pulling me from between the legs of my lovely wife.” All he heard were the sounds of the shower starting, bottles clanging, and a continuous stream of swearing. Blaise sighed, leaning down to pick up the discarded note. “Ahh, so this is the source of our problems.” He cast a tempus and realized that Draco now only had about fifty minutes if he was going to be on time.

When Draco emerged from the shower, smelling of mint and faintly of pine, Blaise had an outfit laid out on the bed. Draco looked it over and huffed.

“That’s very muggle.” He started pulling on the denims, followed by a black button-up and a light-grey jumper.

“You’re going to a muggle shop.”

“This is never going to work. It’s Longbottom, for Merlin’s sake.” Draco sat on the end of his bed, pulling on his boots very carefully. He looked up; the poor man was lost. “I’m so fucked.” Blaise sat next to him, placing a hand on his.

“Draco. You are a Malfoy. You need to start acting like one. You need this marriage. You will do whatever it takes to get what you need, yes?” Draco nodded. “Then go and get it.” Draco stood, mentally preparing himself. “But Draco,” he turned back to look at his friend, “don’t ruin this.” A confused look crossed his face before he walked out to the floo.

“Thanks, Blaise.” It was quiet, but he hoped his friend heard it. “Diagon Alley,” he called as he threw some powder into the floo and stepped forward. He could walk from there.

            The Baroness was a quaint little dive. Her front held a large, open window with the outline of a mug and a swirl of smoke in the corner. She was a wooden building, older, but not quite run-down. The door was strong and reinforced. It held no windows. Draco gripped the handle and tugged. Cool air followed him into the crowded space, but it was quickly warmed by the heat of so many bodies and the flow of warm drinks and conversation. He looked around, trying to spot Neville. In his ignorance of the surroundings, he did not notice when his prey stepped up behind him.

            “Hullo, Draco.”

            “Wha—oh.” He spun quickly, hand instinctively around the wand up his jumper sleeve. His body relaxed when he saw who it was. “Longbottom.”

            “You should probably start calling me Neville.”

            “Tea. We should start with tea.” Neville’s grin widened. His arm swung out to point Draco in the direction of a booth.

            “What would you like, your highness?” Draco bristled.

            “Earl grey. A teaspoon of honey. Their finest.” He hesitated, then, “Thank you.” Neville looked taken aback at the last bit, but set his own cup down to order the drink for Draco. When he slid into the booth across from the blonde, he pushed the tea gently over and waited as Draco took a sip. “Very good.”

            “It is, isn’t it? The Baroness is my favorite.”

            “Right then. Should we hash out the details or have you brought me here to back out?” Neville coughed into his tea for a moment.

            “No, Draco. I am very much here to move this forward. What do you need to know?” It was interesting to Draco how still Neville was. He barely moved other than to drink his tea.

            “Where do you think we will live? I already have a flat and—”

            “Your flat is fine.” Draco nodded, expecting nothing less.

            “What do you do for work? I don’t know anything about you.”

            “I’m an herbologist. Right now I have a shop in Diagon Alley, but Pomona has asked me to consider teaching at Hogwarts when she retires.” More quiet nods from across the table.

            “And the Longbottom assets?”

            “Will combine with the Malfoy assets and be run jointly, since we are both currently heirs to our houses. If we have more than one child, then I assume we would appoint one to each house.”

            “The first male heir will be a Malfoy.”

            “That’s fine.” Draco was fidgeting now. He’d started tapping against the edge of his mug in time with the bounce of one leg.

            “Why aren’t you hammering me with questions? Aren’t you nervous?”

            “I’m sure everything can be worked out. This situation would be advantageous to both our circumstances. I just never knew you were…”

            “Yeah. Why do you think I’m still the magical world’s most eligible bachelor? Mum won’t let it go this time.” His nails moved from the mug to the poor table and began worrying a line in the finish. Neville reached out and placed a hand atop Draco’s to still it.

            “Draco. Are you sure this is something you want?” Draco laughed mirthlessly.

            “Want? Do you think I get anything I want anymore? I was on house arrest for two years without the use of my wand. I couldn’t even cast a scourgify if I spilled pumpkin juice. I had to do community service and that meant working at Hogwarts under Hagrid for nearly a year. Let me tell you how much fun I had. After that, mum began her hounding about getting married. I have to provide an heir. I have to marry an upstanding, pureblood witch. I have to, I have to. I’m so sodding tired of having to do everything for everyone else. So to answer your question, Longbottom, no I don’t particularly want this, but I have no other choice.” His nostrils were flaring by the end, and it looked like the wind had been blown right out of him.

            Neville squeezed his hand. Draco looked up from that gesture and saw nothing but a friend. It was dizzying.

            “When would you like to perform the bonding ceremony?”

            “Are you fucking with me? I just told you that I am only doing this out of duty to my family and you still want to go through with it?”

            “I have my own reasons. Answer the question.”

            “As soon as possible.”

            “We can do it tonight, if you like. At least I think I can get him to do it tonight.” Neville tilted his head, biting a lip in thought.

            “Who are you talking about? I don’t want this in the papers and I most certainly don’t want a big affair. I just want it over with.”

            “I know someone. Let me make some arrangements. Plan for this evening. I’ll floo you with the details, okay?”

            “Fine.” Draco took his hand back and sipped at his tea.

            “Draco?”

            “Yeah?”

            “Thank you.” That bewildered him, but he could only stare as Neville rose and returned his mug to the counter. Those broad shoulders jerked in a short, laughing exchange with the teller before he turned and walked toward the door. He turned one last glance to Draco before disappearing out into the grey afternoon.

            “Fuck.” Draco finished his tea, placing the mug and a large tip on the table before leaving the shop and finding the nearest alley. There, he apparated home and waited.

By lunch, he had that blasted owl hammering at his window again. This time he was prepared and had treats in hand before he let the bird in. She let him take the note with an outstretched leg while he handed her a treat. No injuries; he was getting better at dealing with Longbo—Neville’s bloody bird. He unrolled the parchment and shook his head. Once again, the man was not free with words. “ _The Hog’s Head. 7:00pm. Room 4. Bring someone to stand for you._ ” He had some time. He needed to floo Blaise. Draco sighed and went to the fireplace, feeling like he’d just got done doing this.

“Draco? Don’t tell me you’re stealing my husband again.”

“Hello, Ginny. I’m afraid I must.”

“We had plans.”

“Can you please get him for me?”

“Draaaaaco!”

“Ginny, please.” Draco was not normally this patient or polite to Ginny, so she pursed her lips and stared at him for a minute before standing.

“Fine. Blaaaaaaaaise!” Draco covered his ears.

“Blast it, woman! Couldn’t you have gone and gotten the ruddy wanker?”

“Nope.” She grinned. “He’s coming. I can hear him thumping up the stairs. Have fun boys!”

“Draco. To what do I owe the pleasure now? I had hoped you were quite occupied today.”

“Gee, Blaise. One would think you didn’t appreciate your best friend.”

“Pulling the best friend card. It must be serious.”

“It is. Can you come through?”

“I’ve only got trousers on. Will that offend your poor, Malfoy sensibilities?”

“It’s not like I haven’t seen you drunk and naked before,” he paused, “on your wedding night. Rutting with the weaselette.”

“Okay, okay. I’m coming through.” Blaise made a shooing gesture and stepped through the flames. He was true to his word; he was only clad in a pair of light blue pajama pants. They looked creamy and soft. Draco shook his head. “So what is so important that Ginny can’t hear and you apparently need to make me cancel plans with my wife—again?”

“I’m getting married.”

“Okay. And…?”

“Tonight.”

“Oh.”

“Yes. And I need you to stand for me.” Blaise sat on the nearest piece of furniture, which happened to be a chaise lounge. He crossed his legs, resting an elbow on one and propping his chin there.

“Tonight? Are you sure about this? I mean I know I pushed you toward Neville and it seems like it would be a perfect solution—if you don’t ruddy it up—but tonight? Draco, there are an awful lot of questions you should be asking yourself here.”

“Tonight, Blaise.” Draco was pacing the room, fingers worrying at his wand, then the edge of his shirt, then through his hair. In a matter of moments, his hair resembled Potter’s and he laughed. He plopped down unceremoniously next to his best friend and laid his head on Blaise’s shoulder. “I need you tonight, Blaise.” The sincerity in Draco’s voice, more than anything, convinced Blaise that there was more to this situation than what he knew.

“You owe Ginny. Something fancy.”

“Done.”

“When and where?”

They exchanged details as Blaise helped Draco pick out clothing for the evening. It wasn’t as if he had the time to get measured for custom robes or anything of the sort. He was getting married that evening and he was wearing clothing he’d stuffed in the back of his closet. Several panic attacks had to be put aside in order to get through the time span between the owl arriving and when they apparated to the Hog’s Head. It might have helped that Blaise supplied Draco with a small hoard of alcohol to dissipate the nerves.

The deep charcoal overcloak shadowed Draco’s face as they entered the pub. No one paid them much heed as the pair walked past the bar and straight up the stairs. Blaise pretended not to notice Draco’s slowing pace as he ascended; instead, he placed a hand on Draco’s back and ushered him forward. The door to room four was unremarkable.

It was Blaise who knocked. Draco was frozen on the other side of the hall. Just as he thought about turning and high-tailing it back down the stairs, none other than Harry Potter answered the door.

“Of course he would pick you. I should have guessed. Well we’re here.” Harry raised a brow before looking out into the hallway. He couldn’t make out the face beneath the cloak. Harry grinned, hearing Neville lamenting farther back in the room.

“Just let them in, Harry.”

“In you come, then.”

Blaise turned to see Draco stuck there in the hall. He reached out a hand and the hooded man waved him away, striding forward as if he hadn’t been unable to move for the last five minutes. He brushed past Harry, sure to ram his shoulder as he went through.

“What’s up that one’s arse?” Harry turned to ask Blaise.

“Nothing. Such a shame.” He grinned and walked into the room. Harry shook his head and closed the door.

When Harry turned around, he had to do a double-take. The hooded figure had removed the overcloak, only to reveal Draco Malfoy.

“Neville! You didn’t tell me Malfoy was the bloody Slytherin you were marrying!”

“Wait a minute. He didn’t tell you who it was?” Blaise looked all too pleased with himself. Neville shook his head.

“No! He only told me it was a Slytherin and I knew ‘em from school.”

“Oh, this is too good.” Blaise plopped down on the edge of the bed, careful not to touch the comforter overly much.

“Look, Harry. I need you here for me. This isn’t just for him, you know.” In the middle of the conversation, Neville pulled Harry aside. Neville looked too serious to interrupt. After a few minutes of hushed whispers, they returned to the larger group. Draco hadn’t moved from leaning against the wall.

“All right. All right. You all have the right to marry whomever you bloody well want to. I just want to make sure my friend is okay.” Harry’s wand slid down from his sleeve as he stalked over to Draco. The blonde didn’t move. Instead, he took a rather curious interest in his fingernails. “Neville Longbottom is one of the best friends I have. He is a brave, kind soul. If you do anything, and I do mean anything, Malfoy, to hurt him, you will have me and every one of us Gryffindors to deal with. Do you understand me?”

“Are you done, Potter?”

“Never.”

“Let’s move forward with this. Shall we, Longbottom?”

“I’ve been waiting all afternoon for you lot to get your crap together. Are you done squabbling like teenagers?”

“Yes, Aberforth. If you could perform the ceremony, we would be grateful.” Neville nodded to the corner of the room, where the bar’s owner stepped out of the shadows.

“This will be short and to the point, boys. I believe that’s what you wanted?” Neville and Draco nodded.  “All right then. Did either of you bring bonding rings?”

“Oh, no. I forgot.” Neville’s face was so stricken with worry that Harry had to step forward and catch him before he tripped. They were immediately in discussion about where Neville could have left them when Draco stepped forward.

“I have the Malfoy rings.” There was so much commotion from Neville and Harry that they did not hear Draco. “Neville.” He tried again, louder this time. “Neville.” Still no response. “NEVILLE LONGBOTTOM!” Harry and Neville spun to face him, mouths equally agape. Draco ran a hand down his midnight blue robe, re-sorting himself. “I have the Malfoy bonding rings.” He held out a small black box. Neville smiled and nodded. Draco handed the box to Blaise, who gave the second ring to Harry.

“Now that we have that sorted. Draco, Neville, stand here—and there.” He pointed them to a spot on either side before him. Blaise and Harry took their places. “You lot are here to witness the bonding of Draco Malfoy and Neville Longbottom. Draco, are you here of your own free will?”

“I am.”

“Neville, are you here of your own free will?”

“I am.”

“Do you both promise to uphold the bond in its breadth and depth until one or both of you shall pass?”

“I do.” Neville’s voice was quiet, but firm.

“I do.” Draco hesitated, but after the determined look on Neville’s face, and remembering his own reasons for making the match, said his part with confidence.

“Draco, put your ring on Neville to complete the bond.” Draco reached back to Blaise, who handed him a beautiful dragon-scale band which glowed pearlescent in the light. It was highlighted by a single emerald, which flickered deeply in the candlelight. He reached out for Neville’s hand. Neville offered it, and Draco slid the ring on. He watched as Neville shivered when the ring re-sized to him.

“Neville, put your ring on Draco to complete the bond.” Harry was already placing the ring in Neville’s hand, sure to close his fingers around it so it wasn’t dropped. Neville grinned at him. When Neville turned back, Draco’s hand was out and waiting. He gripped the palm, sliding the ring on slowly. Draco’s ring had a fierce dragon that swirled around the wide band; the emerald on this ring was held between the dragon’s teeth. Neville rubbed his thumb across the dragon’s head, closing his eyes as he felt the bond’s magic drop in place between them. Draco’s eyes widened for a moment before letting his hand drop.

“Kiss or not. I don’t bloody care. I’ve got my bar to get back to. Harry has the paperwork. He’ll file it in the morning.” They all stood staring at one another as Aberforth slammed the door behind him.

“Tell me you aren’t planning on spending your first night married here?” Blaise looked between the newly married couple, aghast. Harry burst out laughing.

“Well, no. I didn’t rent the room. We just borrowed it.” Neville scratched behind his ear, looking down at the floor.

“Don’t worry, Neville. I’m sure Draco has plans to take you back to his flat.” Harry looked at Blaise.

“I think it’s time we left, don’t you?”

“C’mon, Harry. Don’t you want to watch?” Blaise winked, but let Harry grab him by the arm and lead him out. That left Draco and Neville standing in room number four of the Hog’s Head, newly bonded, and completely at a loss for words.

“It’s done then.”

“Yeah.” Neville shrugged a little, unsure what sort of response Draco was looking for.

“Shall we?” This time, the brunette looked up. Uncertainty was written in his eyes. He nodded. Draco stepped forward and crowded him a bit before placing a hand on his arm and apparating them to his flat.

            Side-along apparition was a bit dizzying. It took Neville a minute to steady himself. Once he got his bearings, he noticed Draco was already moving away from him toward a decanter with—he was hoping—something strong. Two glasses were filled and carried. One was handed to Neville; the other raised in a sort of somber salute.

            “To marriage.” A smirk danced across Draco’s face now. Neville was unsure how to respond.

            “To… to making choices our own.” Draco cocked his head at that, but clinked Neville’s glass and downed the liquid fire. His partner followed quickly after.

            Soon after Neville’s glass was empty, Draco’s slender fingers wrapped around it, carefully pulling it from his grasp. Neville’s breathing stuttered. The glass was discarded on a nearby table along with its mate. Draco leaned forward, running his nose along the stubble of Neville’s chin. A deep inhale and all he could smell was the whiskey and something uniquely Neville. It was deep, a tad musky, and rather woodsy. Burnt, almost. Much like an amalgam of ash, sweat, and skin baked in the sun.

            Their kiss was the ignition of all things Neville and Draco. Deep woods and minty pine. Whiskey was the lubrication to their tongues as they danced in the candlelight of the flat, exploring lips, teeth, and mouth until they were lost to the rhythm of their combined breathing.  Several times, Draco’s rough grabbing was bested by the sheer strength from Neville’s broad, sweeping shoulders. Clothing was shed in haste on the way to the bedroom, without much regard to location or walking. Neville stumbled, but caught himself against the wall, only to have Draco chuckle at him and lick a stripe up the side of his neck again.

            Although less glamorous than the manor, Draco’s bedroom was a stately affair. The bed was slung between a large frame of gilded black dragons, maws proudly clutching emeralds at each post. Sheets of deepest wine draped beneath a midnight comforter. Several pillows were strewn about carefully. The entire thing rested atop a cream rug, which Neville’s toes sunk into delightfully. Eyes closed, he walked backward just until his knees hit the edge of the bed. Once there, he sunk onto it agonizingly slow. When his body was splayed out for Draco like the most appetizing pastry in a bed of chocolate, he looked back toward his husband.

            Draco stalked forward, eyes black as the bedclothes beneath his soon-to-be lover. He slithered atop the man lying there, leaving a trail of nips and caresses in his wake. Neville’s body was broad beneath him. Draco paid special attention to the nipples that pearled at each flick and the spot just below his collarbone, which elicited a superbly luscious moan. Just as he backed off to remove Neville’s trousers, he caught the man’s eyes. There was something there, a look of hesitation perhaps. He tried to ignore it and dug his fingers around the material of Neville’s pants, pulling them roughly over hips that struggled to help him. It was a rough go of getting them off, but he managed. Draco summoned the jar he kept in his bedside table. He didn’t look at Neville; instead, he tried to settle himself between muscular thighs that seemed reluctant to move. When Draco opened the jar, dipped a finger in, and began to move downward, Neville caught his shaking arm.

            “Draco?” The blonde refused to look up. “Look at me.” Neville’s thumb rubbed the pulse point just inside his wrist. After a moment of nothing but steady breathing, Draco looked at him. “Thank you.” Neville smiled, that winning smile that could steal any man’s heart. “If you’re not ready for this, then we don’t have to.”

            “We’re bonded. We need to complete the bond.”

            “Don’t use that as an excuse. What’s wrong?” Draco sat back on his heels now, what had been a lovely erection now flagging.

            “What’s wrong? Look at us.” He gestured to the room, the bed, and then the two of them. “We just rushed into a marriage that I highly doubt either of us wants because our families say we need to be married, to have an heir. What you don’t know about mummy dearest is that there are also other restrictions on the Malfoy lineage. If there is not an heir by the time I reach the age of twenty-six—how fucking arbitrary, twenty-six—then I not only lose my inheritance, but my bloody name, as well. I will no longer be a Malfoy. I will lose everything, Neville. Everything.” At this point, Draco had slumped over and put his palms to his forehead. Neville couldn’t quite tell, but the sharp intake of breath sounded like gentle sobbing. Neville reached out a hand to cup his chin.

            “Draco, listen to me. We did this for many reasons, not the least of which are to appease our families. I’m okay with being what you need right now. Someday, Draco, this— _I_ need to be what you want. Do you think we can work on that?” Neville paused, waiting for some sort of response. Draco nodded into the palm of Neville’s hand. He received a kiss to each knuckle for his effort. “Look, I noticed that Blaise left us a present. Do you want me to take it now, or do you want to wait?”

            Draco looked over to the table. There, in a sky blue vial, glistened a potion. Beneath the potion was Blaise’s frantic scrawl that read, “ _Happy babies- B &H_” Draco didn’t hesitate. He grabbed the vial, had it uncorked, and down his throat before Neville had time to blink.

            “I guess we need to switch some things around.” Draco just stared at him.

            “If we’re doing this, then we’re doing this my way.” It was Neville’s turn to stare. Draco scooted back on the bed, shifting so that he lay on his stomach.

            “Fine by me.” The words were muffled as Neville reached for the discarded jar, setting it close to Draco’s hip. He spent several minutes familiarizing himself with the man’s back, sides, and hips before dropping a single finger down to his prize.

            When Draco was relaxed, Neville dipped his finger into the jar, covering it and then moving back into place as he swirled around the bud, dipping gently in a few times before sliding in completely. Draco arched against his hand, more so when a second finger was added. Just as Neville caught a rhythm, he curled downward, holding on to Draco’s hips as he writhed and moaned. The preparation continued, Neville’s other hand stimulating Draco’s spine with feathered touches. Right when he found a particularly sensitive spot, a third finger pushed in. A gasp accompanied this and Neville stilled for a moment to let him adjust. Draco signaled that he was ready by relaxing, letting his hold of the sheets go for a minute. There was a slight hiss as Neville’s fingers slid out, then in, then out again. Neville’s retreat was both surprising and devastating as he waited for what came next.

            Draco felt the bed dip just a bit more near his hips. The jar moved against his skin, then disappeared. When next he felt something, it was a whisper of lips at the back of his neck before Neville trailed gentle kisses down his spine. Draco arched into them, relishing in the uncomfortable silence. He felt thighs move solidly between his own, a hard presence slung between his legs that was not his own.

            One hand reached down, gently brushing against Draco’s exposed flesh before taking his cock in hand and moving forward. The first push was intense for both of them, as it was an intrusion on every level. Draco’s head came back to rest harshly against his lover’s shoulder. Neville reached down and licked up Draco’s neck while he pushed steadily forward, listening to the deep groan it elicited. Fully seated, he paused. Draco’s breathing consisted of fast, shallow pants. Neville was trying to contain himself as they began rocking together.

Long, slow thrusts that dragged his cock along Draco’s prostate drove them both mad. Neville found several opportunities to grip a bit harder, to bite deeper into the flesh before him. He could feel Draco pushing back, looking for more. Neville reached around, fingers wrapped securely around the weeping, neglected shaft. He felt the shudder from the man beneath him and the impending climax that stole conscious thought from them both. Feeling the pulse of Draco’s orgasm over his hand and around his cock, Neville allowed his own release. He leaned his forehead between Draco’s shoulders, listening to the unsteady breath of his lover, his husband.

Neville’s arms clung to Draco, bringing them both to the bed so they spooned on their sides.

“My mother won’t be happy about this, you know.”

“Your mother should be very happy. After all, she can’t deny that our first child will be a Malfoy.” Neville wrapped his arm around Draco’s waist when the blonde huffed in indignation, placing a kiss on his bare shoulder. He couldn’t conceal the smile, nor the single tear that fell.


End file.
